The Heart's Landscape
by wafflehood
Summary: In which there is no permanent paralysis or breaking up, but that doesn't mean there's no drama. The road to recovery isn't easy.  AU from the November 11 episode
1. November 11, 2010

**Disclaimer: **I don't own. Trust me, if I did, there'd be a whole lot more making out and a whole lot less paralysis-business. ITV owns.

**Quick notes:** This is shameless self-therapy, because the reality depresses me. Basically, what I've done is answered the question "What if Jackson's operation worked?" and played with that a little. It may follow some of the plot points ITV gives us in the coming weeks, but only if I think it fits with the basic ideas I've already got for this fic. Also, there will probably be some overlap with other storylines, but not much more so than on the show itself. Since I don't actually follow these storylines and only read spoilers, said other storylines will probably get messed up timelinewise. Consider yourselves warned!

* * *

**November 11, 2010**

_~Hands are the heart's landscape~_

Jackson hates waking up. He's always hated it, and he hates it even more now that he wakes up and can't rub the sleep from his eyes or stretch his arms or wrap his blankets (or Aaron, depending on what's closest) tighter around himself to ward off the cold. As such, it always takes him a while to wake up fully. He'll stumble around aimlessly for a while, useless to the world, or, now, stare at the hospital ceiling and blink until the world around him starts making more sense again.

That's probably why, when he wakes up after his operation, even more groggy and fuzzy than usual, because of the pain medication and the general anesthetic still in his system, it takes him a couple of moments to register that something's tickling his arm.

He thinks, at first, that maybe it's his imagination playing tricks on him, but then he glances down at the offending spot, and, there's no mistaking it. That's Aaron's hand on his forearm, and Aaron's thumb stroking the hairs right where Jackson can feel the tickle. It's not much—barely there, really, and he can't feel the rest of Aaron's hand, but he still spends a few long minutes staring at it. He can't believe it, and, he realizes, he doesn't even have to believe it, because he can just _feel_ it instead.

"I can feel it," he breathes. He doesn't think any of them had even noticed him waking up, too busy asking his doctor all sorts of questions, but at the sound of his voice, his mum, dad and Aaron all turn their heads to look at him. Aaron does it quickly, head snapping around and eyes locking on Jackson's face, wide and surprised, and Jackson's too busy staring back at him to notice how much time it takes his parents to get over to his side. "Your thumb. It tickles."

A lot of things happen at once. His mum is talking a million miles an hour, and his dad is asking questions, and the doctor's asking even more questions, and then there's Aaron. Much in his usual style, he doesn't say a word, but the grin on his face could quite possibly power entire cities. Or maybe Jackson's just biased. It doesn't matter, because amidst all the chaotic happiness that his announcement caused, it's Aaron's unwavering smile and his thumb that keeps stroking Jackson's arm that calms his racing heart. No one asks him to move anything, but Jackson doesn't think he could. He's still tired, and the warmth that's spreading through his body is doing nothing to keep him awake.

Aaron takes his hand, and he can feel the familiar calluses against his fingertips. He falls asleep.

* * *

"You what?" Paddy feels like his heart is about to burst open. He's clutching his phone tightly in his hand, pressed against his ear, deathly afraid that he heard something wrong. He doesn't think his heart could take that. He has to hear it, one more time, to be sure.

"_He felt my hand, Paddy, he could feel me,_" Aaron repeats. Paddy's pretty sure he's crying. He can hear it in the way his voice is choked up, but he's also pretty sure that Aaron's grinning. "_The doctor said that—well, they don't know anything for sure yet, of course, but they said it's a really good sign. They think he might even walk again!_" Paddy can't remember a time when Aaron's sounded this happy and relieved. The only thing that even comes close were those first couple of days after he and Jackson first got together, when the smile had seemed permanently stuck to his face. Paddy wonders if Jackson knows how much he means to Aaron, and then he wonders if Aaron knows.

It makes his head hurt, and he decides to focus on Aaron's happy chatter instead. "That's great news!" he enthuses. Behind him, Pearl instantly perks up, and Rhona sticks her head in through the surgery door. He waves his hand at them, not entirely sure what he's trying to communicate by it. "How's he doing, then?"

"_He's asleep now,_" Aaron replies, and there's shuffling and some murmuring. Paddy recognizes Adam's voice in the background, and Aaron says something that sounds a lot like, "_No, it's not, you git,_" but he decides not to ask. His tone is cheerful and Paddy counts that as a win. Then Aaron says, "_They're going to do some tests on him when he wakes up. Until then, we can't really know anything, but._" And Paddy can hear it in his voice, the reluctance to truly believe it yet, and the overwhelming urge to just give in to the happiness that must be surging through Aaron's chest. It's surging through Paddy's, and he's not dating Jackson.

Which, that thought actually disturbs him a little, so he shakes himself and tells Aaron to keep him updated. He knows Aaron would much rather be goofing off with Adam or keeping an eye on Jackson than talk on the phone to him, and Paddy does have a job to do. He puts his phone down on the table and looks at Pearl, first, and then Rhona. Peal looks absolutely chuffed, and Paddy remembers clearly her affection for Jackson, which is another thought that disturbs him a little if he thinks too much about it, so he looks at Rhona, and she looks happy, but guarded like she's afraid to believe it. "It seems," he says, choosing his words carefully, "that Jackson's regained some sensation in his arms." At their looks, he continues, "He's still out of it, so they haven't been able to do any tests, but apparently he felt Aaron's hand on his arm, and they're saying it's a good sign, so."

Pearl claps her hands together. "Wonderful news," she says. She says it like she might say that the weather was nice or the tea was delicious. Like it's just another thing. Paddy can't really decide if he finds it reassuring or confusing. Rhona looks like she's thinking something along the same lines, and Paddy feels a surge of affection for her that he quenches, viciously. Sometimes, he really wishes he weren't such a good person. Or that Marlon wasn't such a good friend. Either would work.

* * *

Without exaggerating, Hazel's sure these past couple of weeks have been the longest, most excruciating weeks of her life. The fear of not knowing if Jackson would even survive, and then the waiting to see if he would ever wake up, and then the horror when she found out that he couldn't move. She feels like it's just been bad news upon bad news upon bad news. She was fully prepared for another round of them, had steeled herself and told herself that even if Jackson was never going to move again, well, they'd work through it. It would be all right. She can't accurately describe the emotion that ran through her when Jackson said he felt Aaron's hand. Relief, yes, and happiness, of course. But those are just words. Meaningless, useless words that don't measure up to the emotion coursing through her veins. Not by a long shot.

Next to her, Jerry is reading the paper. His foot is bouncing up and down, impatiently, and Hazel regrets having a go at him for reading earlier. It's obviously how he copes with waiting, no matter what the situation. It's funny, she thinks, how those kinds of details about him escape her, even after they were married twenty years. And, she thinks, if there's one good thing come out of this whole mess, it would be that Jerry is back in his son's life. Hazel doesn't know if Jerry's fully accepted Jackson's sexuality, but he doesn't seem to think it matters in the grand scale of things. Not right now. And that, she thinks, is definite progress.

"Ow!" Adam's voice startles her out of her silent contemplation. He's rubbing his shoulder and glaring half-heartedly at Aaron. "You miserable prat! That's going to bruise, you know." But he doesn't look too upset, and Aaron's actually bent over in his seat, laughing. Hazel can't remember ever seeing Aaron like that, and from the way Adam deflates into a reluctant, but brilliant, grin, she doesn't think it happened often before she turned up, either. Adam shoves at Aaron's shoulder. "Yeah, yeah. Laugh. See if I bring you back anything from the vending machines."

"I don't want anything from the vending machines," Aaron says cheerfully.

Adam rolls his eyes and gets to his feet, stretching his body and wincing when he moves his bruised arm. Hazel fancies she spots a flicker of something akin to concern cross Aaron's face for just a moment, but it's gone before she can be sure she's not just hallucinating it. Adam looks over at her and meets her eyes, his own eyes as open and warm as ever. She regrets having a go at him earlier, as well. He didn't deserve it. "Can I get you anything, Hazel?" he asks, which doesn't help her guilty conscience much. She feels a little bit like she kicked a puppy.

Or a lot. Whichever. She gets to her feet. "I'll come with you," she offers. Adam looks like he's about to turn her down, gentleman instincts kicking in again, and Hazel has to wonder how John and Moira ended up with two children like Adam and Hannah, and then one daughter like Holly. Still, she isn't one to judge, and she holds up her hand to stop him from talking. "I need to stretch me legs for a bit, have a little walk. I've been sitting on me arse all day, it feels like," she explains, and Adam smiles at her. He kicks Aaron in the shin as they're leaving, and Aaron shouts something rude after him. Adam flips him off just as the door closes behind them. Whatever reply Aaron may have had is lost.

They walk to the vending machines in silence. For the first time, Hazel takes the time to take in her surroundings. She feels like she's been living in this hospital, but she's never noticed what it looked like before now. Never had the time or the energy. She sees a young man, not much older than her own Jackson, standing outside one of the other rooms in the spinal unit. She can't see his face, but his shoulders are shaking, and she knows that he didn't get the same happy news as she did today. She wonders who's inside the room—who he's grieving for.

She can't feel sad for him, though. The happiness still bubbling inside her is too intense.

When they reach the vending machine, Adam says, "So, what do you want, then?" and Hazel doesn't really want anything. Her Jackson's on the mend, and Aaron's smiling again. What more could she possibly wish for right now? Except for world peace, and she's always kind of wanted a pony, as well, but that's neither here nor there. Right here is the feeling inside her whenever she thinks that her son's going to be all right. Right here is Adam, in front of her, being the perfect gentleman even after she snapped at him for trying to calm everyone down.

"Look, Adam, about my outburst earlier," she says sincerely, "I'm so sorry."

Adam looks confused. "What outburst?" he asks.

"You know. While we were waiting on Jackson," she explains.

Several emotions flit across Adam's face—confusion, realization, confusion again, and then understanding. "Oh, come on, Hazel, that was nothing," he says, smiling brightly and genuinely at her. "You were worried about Jackson, it's all right."

Not for the first time, Hazel wonders how Aaron ever got so lucky with the three main men in his life. Paddy, Adam and Jackson. In a way, all three of them are way too good for Aaron. In a way, he doesn't deserve either of them. But he's still got them. They must all really love him, she knows. She never really understood why, but now, after spending so much time with Aaron, dealing with Jackson's accident together, watching him step up to the plate and be there every step of the way. She thinks maybe she understands after all.

Adam buys a cup of coffee and a bag of pretzels. Hazel's never actually seen Adam eat pretzels, and when he tosses them at Aaron's face once they get back to the family room, her suspicions are confirmed. Aaron opens the bag enthusiastically, but he doesn't thank Adam for them. Adam rolls his eyes at Hazel, but he's smiling, and Hazel smiles back. Yes, Aaron still has a way to go. But with people like Paddy, Adam and Jackson in his life, she thinks he'll be all right.

* * *

Hannah's crying when Adam gets home.

He wishes it were a rarer occurrence. His mum isn't around, but his dad is wrapped around Hannah, comforting her. Or attempting to, at least. Hannah is pretty much hysterical. Adam closes his eyes. He'd been so happy, so overjoyed, so ready to share his good news with his family. His mate is going to be all right; his best mate isn't going to lose his boyfriend to permanent paralysis. In the brief reprieve from the way things are at home, he'd even forgotten about Holly.

"How'd it go?" his father asks. Hannah peaks out from his arms, interested. She doesn't stop crying, but at least she's not howling anymore.

"Fine," Adam replies shortly. "They did some tests on him. They say he's regained most of his sensation and some mobility, so that's something, at least."

"Something?" his father echoes. "Adam, that's really good news. Why aren't you more happy about it?"

Upstairs, Holly lets out a loud shriek. A few minutes later, his mother comes down the stairs, looking frazzled and ready to burst into tears. Adam purses his lips. "Yeah," he says. "Wonder why."

"Adam, sweetheart," his mother says, out of breath. She hugs him. She smells like sweat and tears. Adam pulls back quickly. "How'd it go at the hospital, love?"

"Fine," Adam repeats. He hasn't taken off his jacket yet. He knows Scarlett's home. He promised her he'd stop by sometime today and tell her how it went. "I'm going to go pay Scarlett a visit, all right?" he says, and he's out the door before his parents can stop him. It's chilly outside, but not exactly cold, and he trudges down the road to Mill Cottage with his hands buried in his pockets. The streets are mostly empty, and the few people that Adam does pass don't speak to him. He thinks he probably gives off an aura of don't-look-at-me-don't-talk-to-me-don't-touch-me. He's been around Aaron enough to know what it looks like, anyway. Wouldn't be too much of a stretch to think it might have rubbed off on him.

When he knocks on the door to Mill Cottage, it's Chas who answers. She barely even looks at him before pulling him into a tight hug. She's laughing, so someone's obviously told her about Jackson. Adam kind of hopes it's Aaron, but he's also realistic enough to know that it's probably more likely to have been Paddy that passed on the message. He accepts Chas' hug, though, and hugs her back, looking up the stairs behind her where Scarlett appears. She smiles at him, and Adam feels all right again.

And when she takes his hand and leads him upstairs, and they pour over old photos of the village and make out a little, Adam doesn't think about Holly. He thinks about how Jackson's going to be all right, and how he's never seen Aaron so happy before in his life, and how relieved Hazel was, and how Chas was grinning, and how Scarlett still makes him feel newly in love. Life isn't so bad, he thinks.

* * *

**End note: **The formatting on this site is f-ed up. I spent quite a while trying to get it to do what I wanted, but, well. I gave up. Maybe if I have more time at some point, I'll try to figure something else out. Sorry if it's completely unreadable!


	2. November 12, 2010

**November 12, 2010**

_~Hands are the heart's landscape~_

Jackson wakes up because he's in pain. Which is so utterly unfair, because there's no one in the room with him and he still can't do much more than move his fingers, so there's nothing he can do about it. He's tired and he hurts and he's also very much alone in a hospital. He tries to focus on how the pain is actually a good thing, but all alone in a dark hospital room with his back feeling like it's on fire _and_ being prodded at with very sharp objects _and_ being slammed repeatedly into a brick wall, it's not much of a consolation. He groans. He should've known getting his sensation back wouldn't be a walk in the park. It is, however, the first step towards him ever taking another walk in any park, so he bites his lip and closes his eyes. Back-ache or no back-ache, he's going back to sleep.

When he wakes up a second time, he's no longer in pain and Aaron's holding his hand. Jackson knows it's Aaron without even looking. He recognizes the rough skin and the feel of it—he recognizes the _fingers_, for crying out loud. He's always had a thing for Aaron's hands. The way they're hardened from the work he does, but so soft and hesitant and careful all at the same time. He can't get enough. In a way—and he's ashamed to admit it, because he doesn't like thinking about just how far gone he is, but he was almost more scared that he'd never feel those hands again than he was scared he might not walk. His mother would say something about priorities. She'd be missing the point.

"Hey," he whispers without opening his eyes. Aaron's hand clenches tighter around his. He opens his eyes and takes in his surroundings. It's grey outside, like the sun's hiding behind a cloud or maybe it's not completely up yet, and Aaron looks knackered. Jackson frowns. "How long've you been there?" he asks and does his best to sound stern and disapproving that Aaron isn't sleeping, but he thinks he just sounds a little love struck. He needs to work on that.

Aaron smiles. "Not that long," he promises. He runs his thumb over the back of Jackson's hand. "I've got work after lunch, but I wanted to see you first."

"Why?" Jackson asks. He's a little confused and a lot touched. "Won't you be stopping by tonight?" He's a little worried that that might be why. After all, it _is_ a Friday, and it's the first Friday in a long while where Aaron doesn't have too many worries hanging over his head to enjoy it. He might want to go into town with Adam, and Jackson feels like a prat for not wanting him to.

"Don't know yet," Aaron answers. Then he smiles, almost rueful. "Adam wants to go for a pint, and you know what it's like up at his now. I can't just leave him alone."

The rush of pride that surges through Jackson's chest far outweighs the disappointment. "Look at you, all grown up and caring," he teases, and Aaron half-glares at him. Jackson can't help but laugh. So he's still Aaron, then, he thinks. He bends his fingers and runs them against the soft skin between Aaron's thumb and index finger. It works like a charm. Aaron's distracted from his glaring and looks down at Jackson's moving fingers, and the grin that spreads across his face looks automatic, like he physically can't stop it.

"I was scared maybe I dreamt it," he mutters, looking back up at Jackson. He looks vulnerable. That happens more often than Jackson thinks Aaron would like if he knew, so he's made it a thing not to tell him. He's easier to read when he looks like this, and Jackson doesn't want him closing off for some silly reason like wanting to look hard. "I woke up, and I thought, what if you couldn't move after all? What if I'd dreamt it all up and it wasn't real?"

Jackson squeezes his hand. It's not a lot, because he still doesn't have a lot of strength _or_ mobility, for that matter, but Aaron looks like it's more than enough. Jackson thinks maybe it is.

* * *

Aaron shows up almost an hour late. Cain has a lecture ready, is about to tear him a new one for being late even after Cain gave him the morning off _and_ lent him a bloody car, as well. None of it comes out. Aaron gets out of the car with that stupid look on his face that only ever appears when something good happens with him and Jackson. Cain just sighs. "How's the missus?" he asks. He knows it'll piss Aaron off, and he knows Aaron secretly loves it, so, he thinks, they both win. Aaron scowls and goes to work. He doesn't answer Cain's question, which was to be expected, but Cain actually really does want an answer, so he pokes Aaron in the back with a wrench and says, "I asked you a question."

"_Jackson_," Aaron says, pointedly, "is fine."

Cain rolls his eyes. He should've known. For all that Paddy and Hazel keep going on about how Aaron's a changed person, he's still the same annoying git as far as Cain's concerned. It's true that there's something in the way he holds himself, something in his eyes, that looks more mature, so Cain does his best to pull him back down to the mental state of a five-year-old. He's all for Aaron growing up—lad needed it, with his attitude—but Aaron growing up doesn't mean that Cain has to.

Still, Cain figures that if Jackson's on the mend, then Aaron's mood should improve. And, all right, so Aaron was never a barrel of laughs, but compared to Ryan—who has, Cain has to admit, _impeccable_ timing, because he chooses this exact moment to kick a bucket and let out a frustrated little huff of breath. Compared to that? Aaron'll be the life of the party. Cain looks upwards. He's never really believed in a God, but he still takes the time to pray to anyone who'll listen that at least one of his employees gains a sense of humor. Otherwise, it's going to be a very long job, working with them.

His good mood now officially gone, Cain tells Aaron, "You're staying an hour late." Aaron looks angry, and it's probably because of those plans he had with Adam getting pushed back so far now that he won't have time to stop by the hospital tonight, but Cain doesn't care. "You came in an hour late, you're staying an hour late. End off."

Behind them, inside the garage, Ryan snorts out a laugh. Cain can feel his eyebrows disappearing beneath his hairline, and the fight deflates from Aaron's body at the sound. _Well, well, well_, Cain thinks. _I'll be_.

* * *

The thing is, Hazel knows her son. She may have spent the better part of the last two years abroad, but no one will ever know her Jackson as well as she does. Not even Dan or Joe, who've been his friends for far longer than she thinks anyone realize. She knows Aaron doesn't realize it, knows he can hardly look past whatever issues he may or may not have had with Sol to see that Jackson's got two "man's man", straight friends in Dan and Joe. Friends that he's had a lot longer than he's been out, maybe even longer than he knew he was gay.

That's another thing. For all that Hazel jokes that she should have known earlier that Jackson was gay, well, she _did_ know. She wasn't sure, of course, because it's a big thing to start speculating about. If Jackson hadn't been gay and she'd assumed, then things between them would probably have turned very awkward. It wasn't that Jackson acted particularly _gay_, whatever that means, and he still doesn't, but she's his mum and of course she noticed. There were girls, of course, but he never seemed really interested. He always preferred to hang out with his mates. And then there was Harper, the sweet girl who showed up only a couple of months before Jackson finally came out. She remembers how everything between the two of them screamed FAKE RELATIONSHIP in capital neon letters that almost hurt her eyes. That was when she knew.

But knowing her son as well as she does, Hazel also knows when something's bothering him. Which it is now. He's watching telly, and he's got control of the remote himself, which had made him very happy at first, but now he just seems bored, flipping through channels so quick it's giving Hazel whiplash. The frown on his face has nothing to do with boring afternoon television, either. Hazel can think of only two things that makes him look like that: Aaron, and his dad. Seeing as how Jerry hasn't been in for a while, Hazel assumes it's about him. So she says, "He'll be here, you know. Just got to be patient."

"You what?" Jackson's head turns to look at her. He stops tapping the change-channel button and the screen stops on a food program. Hazel raises an eyebrow briefly at the elaborate cake. Jackson continues, "Who are you referring to? Dad?" It should be said, Hazel thinks, that Jackson probably knows her about as well as she knows him. "It's not him. It's Aaron." Hazel has just enough time to think, _But he was just here this morning_, before Jackson taps his finger against the remote again. On the next channel is what looks like a rerun of _EastEnders_. Jackson stops. "And it's not about him not coming, not really."

He's not lying. Hazel can tell as much. But he's also leaving something out, and he doesn't seem like he wants to tell her what that is. And Hazel knows her son. She knows asking him again won't get her an answer if he's decided he doesn't want to tell her. So she sighs instead. For all that she knows her son better than anyone, he's still a mystery sometimes.

* * *

"Thank you for doing this, mate," Adam says when Aaron stops by Butler's to pick him up. He looks completely worn-down, and the relief on his face is so clear that Aaron wants to take a step back. He can't get involved in the Holly business, he's got far too much going on himself. He doesn't want Adam relying on him for help, because he'll only let him down. That's all he ever does, really, and Adam still looks like he's saved his entire day, smiling tiredly and pulling on a jacket. "I know you'd rather go and see Jackson and all."

Which is true. Aaron would much rather be at the hospital with Jackson, because Jackson may finally be getting better, but he's still in a hospital, and that's where Aaron wants to be. He can't explain it, the need to be there with Jackson, but he thinks it's probably connected to those warm, happy feelings he has for Jackson. The ones he can't explain, either, and doesn't know what are. The ones that are so very much there that he can't walk away, but maybe not enough that it's love. He doesn't know. He's not very good at feelings and emotions and definitely not talking about them. He always comes off as a prat.

Still, for all that he'd rather spend his Friday evening with Jackson, Adam's his best mate, and from the way his shoulders are hunched, it doesn't take a genius to see that something's wrong. And Aaron may not be a genius, but he does know Adam pretty well by now, and he cares for Adam as well, so he can't just leave him alone. Truthfully, he's a bit frightened of what might happen if he did. Adam is so angry all the time, spitting insults left and right, and it's not like him. So Aaron figures that spending one Friday night in town with his best mate instead of at the hospital with his boyfriend isn't going to kill him.

"You ever wonder—" Adam trails off. Aaron looks over at him. "You think it's our fault?" Adam asks. He's not looking at Aaron, and Aaron isn't really sure what he's talking about. Probably Holly. That seems to be all Adam ever talks about. "Is she like she is because of something we did? Do you think?" Adam sounds so frustrated. He doesn't sound upset or worried, just angry. A chill runs down Aaron's spine.

"No, mate," he answers. "It's not your fault." He would know, he figures. He's been a drug dealer once. He knows all about the sad cases that buy them because their family drives them to, and Holly isn't one of them. Aaron can't imagine any family less likely to drive someone to drugs than the Bartons. He doesn't know how to tell Adam that. "It's just... one of those things."

Adam lets out a breath. "Yeah," he mumbles. "Maybe." They've reached the bus stop by now, and Aaron can see the bus coming from further down the road. He's about to ask where they're going, because all Adam had said was that he wanted to get out of the village, which Aaron is all for. Whenever the two of them go anywhere together, it feels like the whole village is watching them. Like they're waiting for one of them to burst into tears or something. It makes him want to punch someone in the face. But Adam speaks before he has a chance to open his mouth, "Let's go to the hospital first. The bars'll still be open after."

Aaron looks over at Adam as he gets on the bus. There's a soft, distracted smile on Adam's face, as if he's deep in thought about something. Aaron thinks about asking what he's thinking about, but he doesn't. He doesn't want to get involved. He has enough of his own, and he'll only end up messing everything up for Adam anyway. So he just smiles back and says, "All right." Because this he can do. Visiting Jackson and going out for a few pints after. That's something he knows how to do. He can't talk or make anything better, and he tells himself that if Adam had wanted someone to make it better, he wouldn't have asked Aaron.

* * *

**End notes:** Yeah, so I didn't get around to finding some way to make the formatting do what I wanted it to. Real life is kicking my butt right now.


	3. November 13, 2010

**Quick notes:** This chapter took forever to write, and I'm really, really sorry about that! Writing Scarlett turned out to be a lot harder than I expected! Huge thanks goes out to **Green Rainboots**, without whom I would probably still be pulling my hair out at the first sentence. So, yes, thank you forever and ever.

* * *

**November 13, 2010**

_~Hands are the heart's landscape~_

Usually when Aaron wakes up, he's awake and completely aware of his surroundings the minute he opens his eyes. Not like Jackson, who takes forever to become even remotely coherent in the morning. This time when he wakes up, the only thing he's aware of is a sweet, expensive smell that's definitely perfume and definitely _not_ his mum's perfume. Which confuses him, because why is there perfume in his room? It's making his head hurt. Of course, the fact that he's mostly bothered by it because it makes his head hurt should probably tell him something, but he's a little busy being distracted by the perfume and his pounding head to focus on things like that.

"Oh, Aaron, come on, get up, it's nearly noon," says a voice that is very familiar and very, very female. Aaron can't place it, and he doesn't feel like opening his eyes. Why should he? His head feels like it's splitting open, and whoever that girl is, her perfume is only making it worse. Why should he do anything she says? "Aaron! For heaven's sake." She sounds annoyed, but almost fondly so, and it makes him frown. Not a lot of people sound like that when they're talking to him. It's enough to make him open his eyes, blink against the bright sunlight from his windows, until her face comes into focus.

"Scarlett," he moans, rolling over on his side and hiding his face. "What're ya doin' here?" The insides of his mouth taste like molten cheese or something equally disgusting, and he smacks his lips. It doesn't go away.

"I'm trying to get you out of bed, you idiot," Scarlett answers. Now she just sounds fond, which, it's much too early for Aaron's brain to even begin attempting to process that. Or why she's there, trying to get him out of bed, when he's been out with her boyfriend for a night of getting absolutely bladdered. "Now get up. Paddy's making you both breakfast. You've got ten minutes, or I'm getting you dressed myself," Scarlett warns him, and then she pulls off her duvet and there's the sound of his door opening and closing behind her.

Aaron spends a good while plotting the many ways he can get back at her for stealing his duvet, but by the time his brain actually starts working enough for any of those plans to be at all sensible, he realizes that Scarlett said _both_, that Paddy's making them _both_ breakfast, and, what? Who's the other? He hasn't—? If he's screwed up again, he doesn't think Jackson will take him back, he wouldn't deserve it, either.

He's alone. His room is empty, and he's still dressed. Well, mostly. He's got socks and his sweater on, but he seems to be missing his trousers, which would've been embarrassing if his head didn't still hurt like hell. He holds his head in his hands, clutching tightly and breathing through his nose. He feels sick all of a sudden. He really hates being hung-over.

* * *

By the time Aaron drags his sorry arse downstairs, Adam's had two aspirin and seven cups of coffee, and he still feels like rubbish. He is never getting drunk again. Ever.

Aaron looks like he's just stumbled out of bed and pulled on the first thing he found, and he's rubbing at his face and looks about as miserable as Adam feels. Which Adam doesn't think is fair, because he only feels this good because of painkillers and caffeine, and Aaron hasn't had either yet. He doesn't remember drinking more than Aaron, so the bastard must've been putting on a show. Of course, there is also a chance that Aaron simply stopped drinking sometime after two o'clock, because Adam can't remember anything after going to the third club.

He is never getting drunk again. Ever.

At least Scarlett isn't mad, he thinks. She keeps throwing him glances and biting her lower lip, like she's trying very hard not to burst out laughing. It makes Adam feel all fluttery inside, which is infinitely better than feeling like something the cat dragged in, ate and spat back out, but it doesn't make him feel quite as good as the delicious smells emanating from the stove in front of Paddy.

Aaron all but falls into the chair next to Adam's. He glares at the table, like it's offended him personally. "Next time you need someone to drink with, ask someone else. I'm never, _ever_ getting drunk again," he mumbles, barely audible.

"Yeah, you and me both, mate," Adam answers.

There's an amused, somewhat disbelieving snort from Scarlett's direction. Aaron fixes her with a scathing glare, and Adam wants to match it, but he looks at her grinning face and it melts away. He needs to work on that. Probably. He doesn't think too much about it, because Paddy chooses that moment to put a plate with eggs and bacon and toast and sausages in front of him, and, honestly, that's a lot more important than trying to work out how to be able to glare at his girlfriend.

He's chewing away happily, lost in his own world, when Aaron says, "Oy!" in a voice that's proper annoyed. On pure instinct, Adam looks up at the sound. Paddy is holding Aaron's plate of breakfast just out of reach, and Aaron looks torn between going off on one or getting up and simply taking the plate out of Paddy's hands. "What're you playing at? Give me my breakfast, Paddy."

"Are you going to see Jackson later?" Paddy asks, still holding the plate just out of Aaron's reach.

"I only saw him yesterday," Aaron answers. Adam sees Paddy's brown furrowing and he thinks, _wrong answer_. Aaron sees it too, Adam can tell in the way his shoulders slump and his jaw clenches. "Give it a rest, Paddy, I feel like shit. He won't want to see me like this anyway," Aaron says. He sounds angry, and even in the haze of his hangover, Adam gets ready to jump up, just in case. Across the table, Scarlett looks like someone who isn't quite sure what's going on, or how she should be reacting to it.

"It's not Jackson's fault you went out and got drunk last night, so he shouldn't have to pay for it," Paddy insists. It's pretty solid logic, to Adam, but even he, as Aaron's best mate, can't always understand Aaron's logic, so he doesn't think it matters. "You should be there for him. He needs all the help he can get right now." There's a short pause, and then Paddy continues, "Being in a relationship means that sometimes, you have to be do things that you don't feel like doing." He sounds uncertain as he says it, like he isn't sure how Aaron'll react, and Adam honestly thinks this is too much going on too early in the morning.

He gulps down some more coffee, just as Aaron slumps further down in his seat and looks thoughtful. Paddy hands him his breakfast, but he doesn't touch it. Adam punches his shoulder, just because he can. "I'll be thinking of you, when I'm sat under my blanket and watching telly," he smirks, and Aaron shoots him a look that could kill a lesser man. Or a man less used to being around Aaron and his death glares.

"Oh, no, you won't," Scarlett interjects cheerfully. Adam looks at her. He isn't sure what she means. She's smiling a deceptively innocent smile that Adam knows means she's up to something. "You'll be going with him," she says. "Jackson's your mate, isn't he? Besides," she shrugs her shoulders slightly and toys with a lock of hair that's gone loose from her ponytail, "I haven't been to see him yet, and I thought we might as well go today."

Adam gapes at her. Aaron punches his shoulder. "I'll be thinking of you," he quips, "when we put on _24_ at the hospital and force you to watch it." Adam gapes at him. He hates _24_. It's absolute rubbish, and he doesn't understand why everyone else loves it so much. Aaron knows as much, as well, and, _oh_. Aaron's a prat. Scarlett is giggling like mad, and Adam glances up at the ceiling and sends one last, longing thought to his sofa back at the farm. He is never getting drunk again. Ever.

* * *

Taking the bus to the hospital with two blokes who are hung-over and sulking is not Scarlett's idea of a good time. Aaron whines about the bumpy ride for a long while, saying it's messing with his head, until Adam has enough and snarks that being gay's made Aaron more, well, _gay_. Scarlett winces even before Aaron punches Adam's shoulder, because that's just about the worst thing anyone could say to Aaron, and when Adam punches back, Scarlett breathes a sigh of relief that the bus is stopping. Before things get too rowdy and out of control, she drags them both outside and squeezes in between them, lacing an arm through one of each of theirs and effectively keeping them apart.

Jackson eyes them strangely when they walk into his hospital room. "What's going on here?" he asks. Scarlett isn't sure what he's referring to—if it's the fact that they're all visiting him without notice, or that she's got a grip on both Adam and Aaron. From the way he's quirking an eyebrow at Aaron, she thinks it's probably the latter. She glances first at Aaron, who still looks pissed off, and then at Adam, who just looks tired. Jackson seems to notice as well, because he looks at Scarlett and asks, "Why do they both look like death?"

She lets go of them and starts pulling off her jacket. "They're hung-over," she explains.

Jackson snorts. "Suits you right," he says, looking at Aaron again. "For going out clubbing without me."

Aaron rolls his eyes. "Whatever," he says. He's softening up, as though Jackson's presence is a calming influence on him, and Scarlett hasn't been around Aaron and Jackson enough to really understand what Adam means when he says that Jackson is the best thing that's ever happened to Aaron, but she thinks maybe she understands now, seeing the way Aaron puts a hand on the railing next to Jackson's left hand and smiles down at him. "How are you?" he asks, casual and worried all at the same time. Jackson lifts his arms and picks up a book from the bedside table. He doesn't say anything, but Aaron still looks like Christmas came early. Scarlett wants to squeal a little.

"If you two get any more cutesy, I may have to start calling you ladies," Adam says cheerfully.

"And that's coming from you," Aaron retorts, and Scarlett is relieved to see all the venom gone from their jabs at each other. "You can't even go out for a night out without going off about how much you miss Scarlett."

Adam blushes deep red and avoids looking at her. Scarlett laughs, and Aaron looks incredibly smug. And in the middle of it all is Jackson, and Scarlett sees the way he's looking thoughtfully at Aaron and Adam insulting each other. There's something almost sad about him, and Scarlett thinks it must either be her female intuition, or it's so obvious that both Aaron and Adam should've picked up on it by now as well. When they don't, she pokes Adam in the side and says, "Go get us a cup of coffee, sweetie." Adam looks hesitant for a moment, so she adds, with a smile, "You can take Aaron with you if you want. Heaven forbid your very mature conversation should be interrupted."

"I'm not going," Aaron says.

"Go on," Jackson smiles. "I'll still be here when you get back."

It takes a few minutes of loitering at the door and more good-natured banter from both of them, but Adam and Aaron finally leave, and Scarlett pulls over a chair to sit next to Jackson's bed. Jackson looks like he's not sure what to say to her, and Scarlett realizes that the two of them haven't actually been alone together before. Or even spent much time together at all, which is a bit odd, since their boyfriends are best mates and everything. She touches Jackson's hand gently. "So, how _are_ you doing?" she asks.

"Better, I suppose," Jackson replies. It's not really an answer, but it's enough for Scarlett. She knows what's wrong with him.

"You know you'll walk again, yeah?" she says. Jackson looks away from her, and she squeezes his hand tightly. "Aaron hasn't stopped going on about how much you've improved already. I know it sucks that you're stuck here and he's out partying with Adam, but you'll be out there with them in no time. Just wait and see."

The smile on Jackson's face is small and genuine. "I hope you're right," he says. He still sounds a little sad, and Scarlett wonders how much of a front he puts up in front of his mum and Aaron. How much he hides from them to make them happy. It makes her feel oddly protective of him. "I just—" Jackson trails off, almost as if he's just realized that he's pretty much spilling his guts to someone he doesn't even know that well. Scarlett does her best to look trustworthy. She's always thought of herself as a very trustworthy person, so she doesn't think it's that hard. "I can't help thinking that something could go wrong."

Scarlett is, by nature, a cheerful person. That's just who she is. She's not very good at serious, emotional stuff, because it always makes her feel so awkward. Whenever one of her brothers have needed cheering up—which has been often, because bad things seem to follow Jimmy and Carl around like the plague—she's always made them think about something else, made them laugh. So she doesn't really know what to say to Jackson now, except, "Tell you what? If you stop worrying so much, I'll tell you stories about Aaron from when he first arrived."

"What, back when he was all hard?" Jackson jokes.

"He wasn't _that _hard," Scarlett replies. She can see an interested spark in Jackson's eyes. "Did he ever tell you about the time Victoria Sugden went through the ice up at Home Farm lake?"

* * *

Physical therapy used to hurt mentally, because he was telling himself to move and he couldn't, and he could see people touching him but he couldn't feel it. It was awful and terrifying and always ended with Jackson wanting to cry and hide in his mum's warm arms or burrow into Aaron's strong chest, and he never could. He never thought it could actually hurt more than that, but it does. It really, really does, it hurts like a bloody _bitch_. Dr. Gilbert bends his leg and every single cell and nerve in his body screams at him to stop. Jackson bites into his lip so hard it draws blood and clutches at his sheets tightly.

Next to him, Samantha the nurse holds up a hand, and Dr. Gilbert stops. He looks at Jackson's face for a couple of minutes, and Jackson can feel something wet trickling down his cheek. He's not sure if it's tears or sweat. "Maybe that's enough for today, Mr. Walsh," he says solemnly. Jackson's given up on trying to get him to call him Jackson.

Jackson wants to tell him to keep going, because he wants to walk again, but Samantha looks so concerned that he doesn't say anything. He thinks maybe the fact that he can taste blood on his tongue means he should take a break. "Okay," he breathes out. His voice sounds weak even to his own ears. He hates it.

Dr. Gilbert takes a seat in the chair Scarlett vacated just half an hour earlier. Jackson's heart rockets into his throat. Dr. Gilbert doesn't normally stick around after their sessions, and this can only mean something bad. "Mr. Walsh," Dr. Gilbert starts, and Jackson desperately wants to run away from this conversation, "I'm not sure whether you're aware of this, but it's procedure for every patient in your situation to have a psychological consultant on as well as a physical therapist. You know, to help deal with the emotional repercussions of your accident."

Jackson is so relieved he completely forgets about any reservation he might have had towards seeing a psychologist in any other situation. Dr. Gilbert starts talking about setting up a meeting as soon as possible, and Jackson isn't sure what he replies, because he's too busy silently rejoicing that, at least for now, he still seems to be making progress. The only thing that puts a damper on his joy is the intense, aching pain he feels all over his body.

* * *

**End notes:** I'm not sure how happy I am about certain parts of this, but I thought I should post something to make up for having been away for almost a week longer than I said I would be. So I'm sorry if some of it sucked?


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